SPN FIC - He Ain't Heavy
Whaddaya know -- the Muse caved to ficcing, just for Em. Happy birthday, g'fren.
Characters: Sam and Dean
Genre: Gen
Rating: PG
Spoilers: AHBL
Length: 500 words
HE AIN'T HEAVY
By Carol Davis
The Mega Coaster is up ahead, all shiny red and gold and black. Dean’s been wanting to ride it all day. He’s been saving the very best for last, he says.
But with all the running around and the noise and the crowd, he didn’t add things up right. They only have enough tickets left for one ride each, and Sam is too small to go on the Mega Coaster. He’s too small to go on any ride alone.
With one last look over his shoulder at the Mega Coaster, Dean takes Sam’s hand and steers them toward the merry-go-round.
* * *
“Why are you back?” Sam asks.
“Movie sucked.”
“What about…her?”
Dean shrugs dismissively and flops onto the couch beside Sam, popping the tab off a can of Coke and taking a long, slurpy drink. They sit there side by side, feet on the coffee table, watching Terminator. They’ve seen it a million times. A million and one, now. With all the commercials, it runs for about seven hours. When it’s over, Sam switches off the TV and shuffles off toward bed.
“Hey,” Dean says, and Sam turns to look at him. “Happy birthday, douchebag,” Dean tells him, and smiles.
* * *
“I will leave your ass,” Dean says, and Sam thinks that’s right, that’s what he wants. He’s sick and tired of arguing over whether Dad is right or wrong or bugshit insane; he got tired of it years ago. Got tired of watching Dean snap to every time Dad said to do something, whether it made sense or not.
He walks down the road, listening to the diminishing sound of the Impala rolling away, carrying Dean on his ceaseless quest to make Dad happy.
But that’s not why Dean’s driving away. Not really. That wasn’t what was in his eyes.
* * *
Dean doesn’t really need to say anything. The hug said it for him, back in that abandoned house in Cold Oak.
And what it said wasn’t “I’m glad you’re back on your feet.”
Sam’s been hurt before. Shot, clawed, knifed, beaten and kicked. Dean tended to him every time: stitched, bandaged, bathed, held cups of water, spooned out pudding and applesauce. Stayed close by. Always close by.
There was no hug when Sam got better, any of those times.
No, Sam thinks. Tell me you didn’t. Please tell me you didn’t.
But of course he did.
Of course he did.
* * *
He eats, sleeps, bathes. Ogles, flirts, makes comments that would earn him a slap or a punch if the person he was commenting on heard him. He drives the Impala with a steady, sure hand, an easy foot on the gas.
He’s Dean; nobody needs to ask if he’s “one hundred percent pure.”
The rhythm’s off, though. They’re missing something. Some tiny thing.
“Dude.” Sam nods toward the sign in front of the bar next door. “Bikini karaoke.”
A grin crawls across Dean’s face.
Sam plants a hand in the middle of Dean’s back and steers them toward the bar.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Characters: Sam and Dean
Genre: Gen
Rating: PG
Spoilers: AHBL
Length: 500 words
HE AIN'T HEAVY
By Carol Davis
The Mega Coaster is up ahead, all shiny red and gold and black. Dean’s been wanting to ride it all day. He’s been saving the very best for last, he says.
But with all the running around and the noise and the crowd, he didn’t add things up right. They only have enough tickets left for one ride each, and Sam is too small to go on the Mega Coaster. He’s too small to go on any ride alone.
With one last look over his shoulder at the Mega Coaster, Dean takes Sam’s hand and steers them toward the merry-go-round.
* * *
“Why are you back?” Sam asks.
“Movie sucked.”
“What about…her?”
Dean shrugs dismissively and flops onto the couch beside Sam, popping the tab off a can of Coke and taking a long, slurpy drink. They sit there side by side, feet on the coffee table, watching Terminator. They’ve seen it a million times. A million and one, now. With all the commercials, it runs for about seven hours. When it’s over, Sam switches off the TV and shuffles off toward bed.
“Hey,” Dean says, and Sam turns to look at him. “Happy birthday, douchebag,” Dean tells him, and smiles.
* * *
“I will leave your ass,” Dean says, and Sam thinks that’s right, that’s what he wants. He’s sick and tired of arguing over whether Dad is right or wrong or bugshit insane; he got tired of it years ago. Got tired of watching Dean snap to every time Dad said to do something, whether it made sense or not.
He walks down the road, listening to the diminishing sound of the Impala rolling away, carrying Dean on his ceaseless quest to make Dad happy.
But that’s not why Dean’s driving away. Not really. That wasn’t what was in his eyes.
* * *
Dean doesn’t really need to say anything. The hug said it for him, back in that abandoned house in Cold Oak.
And what it said wasn’t “I’m glad you’re back on your feet.”
Sam’s been hurt before. Shot, clawed, knifed, beaten and kicked. Dean tended to him every time: stitched, bandaged, bathed, held cups of water, spooned out pudding and applesauce. Stayed close by. Always close by.
There was no hug when Sam got better, any of those times.
No, Sam thinks. Tell me you didn’t. Please tell me you didn’t.
But of course he did.
Of course he did.
* * *
He eats, sleeps, bathes. Ogles, flirts, makes comments that would earn him a slap or a punch if the person he was commenting on heard him. He drives the Impala with a steady, sure hand, an easy foot on the gas.
He’s Dean; nobody needs to ask if he’s “one hundred percent pure.”
The rhythm’s off, though. They’re missing something. Some tiny thing.
“Dude.” Sam nods toward the sign in front of the bar next door. “Bikini karaoke.”
A grin crawls across Dean’s face.
Sam plants a hand in the middle of Dean’s back and steers them toward the bar.
~~~~~~~~~~~~